Good Day [Therese/Public]

"Today... today is going to be a good day."

"Yes, Fräulein."

"Well... I mean... I suppose that most days are good days are good days but you know something always happens, or something could happen, and it's not a... a good day anymore as much as it is just a day."

"I suppose."

"And how many days is one willing to take, you know, you can't just live day by day, it's one thing if a day is bad, it's bad and you move on."

"...."

"Can you move on if your life is only just days?"

"Miss--"

"Days, and days, and days, and days. One neverending day. And nothing is ever good or bad, is it? It's just... well it's just what people expect." The small woman twisted her scarf in her shaking hands, to steady them, mummify them in peach organza. "But how long will people expect the same thing? Not anymore. Not anymore... I don't think--"

"MISS," The waiter alerted a bit louder. Therese stiffened. Immediately he looked regretful, asking in a kinder tone, "Would you like your coffee before it gets cold?"

She stared at him as if frozen for a minute, with wide, fearful exhaustion-rimmed eyes and then nodded rapidly. He left it at her small table and walked away, presumably never return to... whatever she was.

A series of days is what she was. Some good, some bad, but mostly they were just... just. Just days. Time slowed painfully, while she seemed to be in hyper-speed, fidgeting and shaking and talking too fast for even her own comprehension.

But today, she was going to have a good day. She'd said it already, she'd decided. After all, fate was up to the individual... right? Hers wasn't. But what parts of life was destiny by choice and what parts were simply what everyone should expect? Was marriage what one should expect? Certainly... it seemed like it. Women who weren't married were always frightful and very off in the head. The ones she'd seen, anyways.

....Wasn't that her, then? Frightful and off in the head? Family thought so. Self-consciously, she patted down and re-positioned the hair she had pulled at and out of the curls and braids that afternoon before picking up the coffee cup with both trembling hands (some of it had already gotten on to her dress... oh well. She was grateful to be able to afford more) and brought it to her lips, quickly discovering it was too hot, consequently jumping (yet again) and sending its contents over the table and even more onto her lap. The place went silent for a moment as she tried to appear invisible. It didn't seem to work. A waiter looked to her as if to ask if she needed help, and she vehemently shook her head. No more attention needed to be brought to her at the moment. But eyes were still on her.

"Could I just have a... a newspaper...?"

Bepin simply yawned to himself simply bored and walking down the street, kicking a stone as he went. Perhaps he should get some breakfast or a coffee instead of wandering around so idly, at least then it would be easier to plan out what he wanted to do today and who he wanted to attempt to con this fine day. Something small scale, perhaps?

He gave the pebble one last kick before looking up at the café he’d stopped outside of, a smirk worming its way onto his face.

Oh it was this café. Perhaps if he could sit with the right person his day of ‘business’ would start sooner than he’d thought. The Venetian took a moment to compose himself before heading inside, glancing over the current customers like a hawk for anyone with potential, smirking at seeing the back of a brunette woman’s head.

He took a few minutes to observe her, waiting to see if anyone else appeared to accompany her before calmly approaching her when he was certain she was alone. Not that it seemed she was anywhere as near as calm as he was, noting her shaking from a distance as her hands came into view and approaching more slowly like one would when trying not to startle a deer.

“Aaahh. . .” he started quietly, enough so that she’d know he was there before stopping beside the table and giving her a quick friendly smile, “excuse me, Fräulein, but is this seat taken? I didn’t see anyone with you and thought a woman as pretty as yourself should have to sit alone in a place like this, no~?”

Jumping only slightly when he approached (there was really no getting around it) her eyes darted to the spilled coffee on the table before going back to him. What a charmer-- she knew she didn't look as ethereal as other women, the ones that floated by in their parasols like angels. She seemed more like an angel that had tripped and fallen on the ground.

Still, smiling nervously with tired eyes, she nodded to his inquiry before any words would come out. And they were rushed, as always. Trying to catch up, this time.

"...Comtesse," She informed him, and stood, holding out her shaking hand. "Comtesse Therese Von Steyr. Nn-nn," She shook her head. "I mean, no, no one is with me. You can sit, if you'd like. But I have to warn you, I won't be here for much longer, I have to go to... to..." She wasn't supposed to say she was actually going one step above a lunatic asylum. "To school... I have to go to school. But-- But please, sit."

She sat down again and glanced at the spill on the table. "...It was there before I sat down..." But she snapped out of her fixation on yet another mistake and fixed her eyes on him again. "What... Who might you be?"

"There's no doubt that in our lifetime, we will see a sweep of a completely new social order throughout the entirety of Austria-Hungary! Just now, look at how much has been changing. This is a new era, a completely new era! How many years have we lived like this? The people have to wake up eventually-"

"No, what makes you even think the people will wake up. If anything, they're more blind than ever. They choose to sleep even deeper, as the people don't want change. The people--"

And this was generally how things went at their table. Antonio rarely had little input to add to the table. Which was probably to be expected by his friends. His accent was enough to make him seem simple. So, they must have assumed his input was not worth uch. He didn't think much about these things. He never did. No, he probably didn't even know any of those names they threw around, until he moved to Vienna that was. His family had no time to teach him the etiquettes of politics. They were too busy dealing with the tangible to discuss these abstract, intangible ideas. They were too busy dealing with the present to evaluate the past to guess the future. Too busy working to even begin to think.

But that was not how things were done in Vienna. He liked this atmosphere. The atmosphere of this little cafe and of his friends was so free, and so open minded. It was almost like they were not in Austria. Antonio could only imagine what it was like in Paris. Paris was almost a fantasy land to the young Tyrolean. He had never been there, but he had to go there. How he longed to separate his destiny from the destiny of his friends. He hoped, that the future of Austria and the future of Vienna was not his future. The future of Paris was to be his.

Something loud, from some horrible spill broke off the discussion. And that broke off Antonio's fanciful, Parisian daydream.

What had happened? Some girl, some remarkably unremarkable girl had spilled something on herself. Though she seemed to be in the need of help, Antonio did not bother to help her. He just watched. His eyes always had much closer ties to his brain than his ears did. He was able to take in a lot more. And now, he chose to take her in. Aesthetically, she was otherwise unappealing. But in that, she was appealing. Most people tried to hide their personality with makeup or clothing or hair. But every little aspect of her stained dress, or her misplaced hair, or mannerisms was so sprinkled with character. And though she was the type of woman most men would pay very little heed to, Antonio's eyes could not leave her side.

But in time, their line of vision was interrupted by another man.

He did not have the chivalry to hand her what she asked. Taking his friend's copy of the Tagblatt, the painter boy swiftly got up.

"Fräulein...." Completely lacking in etiquette, or that Viennese gift of tact, he forced the paper to her and interrupted the conversation. Sitting down on that empty seat, much before the Venetian even had the chance to pull it away from him, he smiled. Continuing in his oddly accented German, "Do you need another cup of coffee?"

Not that he had much to spend on her- if that wasn't obvious from his unorthodox appearance.

Even before she could settle back down, the Tagblatt was shoved into her hands and a strangled squeak erupted from behind the pages as she tried to figure out why she was suddenly blind.

"Th-thanks..."

She sat there dumbfounded for a moment-- most days she was never approached at all. Not just anyone-- two men-- seemed to be interested in her. Why? Nothing about her, not even the spilled coffee, was different than any other day. She looked down at herself to make sure, then back to them, looking quite afraid. She could barely understand either.

She attempted to laugh his offer off, but it just sounded helpless. "That... Oh-- no, that's not my coffee.... I didn't order any... coffee." Too unbelievable-- but so was the present situation. Was decorum necessary in such a situation? What was she supposed to do, that other man had already requested a seat.

Maybe she'd progressed. Maybe now she was hallucinating. "Comtesse Therese Von Steyr..." She repeated again, shaking a little more violently now. This was much more than she'd seen in any other day.

((Crashing with permission--))

He'd gone mad from the revelation.

This happened often, of course, but he felt like today he'd really rather come to an exceptional epiphany. Better than yesterday's, anyways--how could he have gotten so worked up over the idea that the king of France (well, if they still had a king) was bald? No, this was much, much more ground-breaking. In his hand, he held a sheet of scrap paper. Upon it, he'd written simply, in scrawling Cyrillic: "This sentence is false."

Absolutely mind-blowing.

He kept holding the page at different distances from his face, sleep-deprived (things like this were what kept him up at night) eyes wide and staring penetratingly at it, as though daring it to not be a paradox. Of course, he'd read about this particular theory before, studied and mulled over it. It was only just now showing it's true significance. Actually trying it for himself--that was it! Seeing it, plain before him, a perfect contradiction.
If the statement was true, then it was false. But if it was false, then that made it true. His brain felt like it had a stack of bricks on it, trying to wrap his mind around the idea, and then--Aha. That was it. There was only one logical explanation.

The sentence didn't exist.

He lept out of his chair, knocking the small cafe table over by accident in his sudden rush of realization. The cold cup of coffee that he'd completely forgotten existed spattered all over the floor, but he couldn't care less--the high from understanding made it irrelevant. ...Although, it was pretty hard to ignore the fact that he'd accidentally knocked into the sleepy-eyed fellow standing at the table next to his (were there that many people there before? He hadn't been paying attention)--or was it the other one? Upon regaining his balance, he actually, seriously could not tell which one he'd bumped. His mind was too fixated on the piece of paper.

Still, he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't remember to apologize. "Sorry--sorry," he directed at both of them, seeing as he didn't know which one he'd wronged, "Got a little excited--it's this, you see--" He held up the paper for all three of them to look at, "Oh, well, I suppose you probably can't read it, but it's terribly interesting-- It doesn't exist, you know--well, it would make sense if you knew... It says 'this sentence is false', can you believe it? Completely paradoxical--"

Suddenly, he cut himself off in the middle of his own sentence, abruptly coming off of his self-inflicted high. These people looked strange (as if he could talk), and sort of aristocratic (well, the lady did, anyways)... He regarded each stranger with deep suspicion. What if...

They were imperialist spies??

"Why are you all standing--sitting," he corrected, in reference to the mousy woman, "so close to me?" Gesturing at the coffee on the floor with one hand, and the coffee on her dress and the table with the other, he demanded, "Did these spill at the same time?? That's a bit suspicious--don't think I don't see it!" It was kind of a miracle he hadn't been locked up by now.


((He's less crazy-sounding once you convince him you're not with the secret police, I promise--/shotdown))

The girl looked terrified. There was nothing that could hide that smile and the starry-eyed admiration on the young Tyrolean's face. It was like she didn't even try to hold in her emotions. The girl was a caricature of herself. Every little tremble she did, the movement complimented her body so nicely. Her expression was the expression of her flesh and soul. He did not say much for a while. He should have explained for himself, but explanation was not something that he needed to do. Or at least, it didn't seem like it to him. Apologizing and explaining might calm the girl down, anyways, he didn't want that.

"A Comtesse?! I think you should have more coffee. I'll get a cup too. We'll have some together. I have some extra money in my pocket-" He grinned, lifting past his odd smock, to reach the pocket of his pants. There was not much money in it, he realized, feeling around. He only had the change from last night, but that might be enough. If it wasn't, she seemed like she had the money to pay for it. His hand, in swift and awkward motions that were natural to his body, pulled out from his pocket-

Only to be struck by some other body. The very few coins he had, all splattered forth onto the ground. Each coin rolling their own separate ways, each path quite unlike the rest.

Antonio looked up at the man that had caused this disturbance.

Like that little Viennese girl, he too was perfect. He was almost like the little Comtesse, except he was not a trembling little (possibly deranged) Austrian woman. No, he was a larger (certainly deranged) foreign man. He was rambling on about something. And then he rambled on about something else. It was all very exciting! This man was a delight to watch. He jumped around, his motions were strange, almost as if he was imitating some odd little foreign dance.

"Would you like to join us for coffee as well? We can talk about non-existent sentences, if you'd like." He stated, reaching for some of the coins under the table.

"I drank and spoke about non-existent things before." Well, about different things that didn't exist. It was a very good conversation to have when you were drunk. Was this man drunk? Hopefully, he wasn't. This character seemed much too authentic. It had to be real.

"Take a seat..."

[[ /weep I'm so late curse you timezones-- ]]

Bepin smiled reassuringly at the other, wanting to calm her down so that she wouldn't bolt away like he was almost convinced she'd do if he took one wrong step. Though perhaps later a wrong step would be more affordable. But for now he took the woman's hand, kissing it lightly and looking up at her, smiling once again.

"IT's nice to meet you, Comtesse. My name is Juxepe--" He was cut off by the sudden appearance of what seemed to be a newspaper between them. He followed the man's arm up to his face, glaring at him for a moment in an attempt to scare him off-- But he seemed much too interested in the Comtesse to take any heed of the look. Bepin simply rolled his eyes, deciding he'd go away in due time as he pulled the chair out to sit down--

And he sat in it. He sat in it. He didn't think he'd ever felt the need to choke someone rise so quickly.

But instead, he calmly moved to stand next to the intruder in his chair and leaned an elbow on the man's shoulder. After taking a second to clear his throat he spoke again, his own accented heavily German sounding considerably less friendly than it had when he'd been talking to Therese. "Excuse me. But you appear to be sitting in my chair. And from the looks of you you cant even afford to buy her a coffee, it'd very rude to make an offer you can't fufil, you know?" He paused, nearly hissing at him, "And you are stressing the young lady out. Perhaps you should leave, si?"

The Venetian had been about to continue before hearing the noise caused by the Russian (at least he assumed him to be Russian, he didn't really care if he wasn't at any rate), his face dropping once again. This was ridiculous. He'd come in to get some coffee and to chat up a lady, and yet his set had been stolen by some scruffy looking man with an odd accent and now another ridiculous man that looked and sounded like he belonged in a crazy house had entered causing a ruckus. He let out a long groan; this was really getting annoying now.

He stared the newest man to ruin his plans with a less than amused look on his face before returning to smiling after what felt like forever with all these disruptions.

"Ahh, really you moved over here, so you are the one standing close to us--"

Would you like to join us for coffee as well?

Mio dio, what was with this kid. Bepin let out a sigh, deciding that if anything it would at least be. . . interesting. He manouvered himself around the crazy man into the other seat next to Therese, being particularly quick about it to prevent a repeat performance and leant back in his seat, giving the man whom had stolen his seat before just deciding to see what would happen.

Sensory overload. Was that it? Some kind of overload. Three men now, one at least, uninterested in her, but shouting.... Her head started spinning. Did she want more coffee? The clang of change hit the floor. Did she read Cyrillic? Did she know about things that didn't exist? Were her coffee spill and the stains on her dress of the same origin? And what was that Italian(?) man's aim? What would she tell Dr. Freud about this?

"I...I DON'T KNOW!" She burst out in a tremor. "What do you want from me??" She turned her crazed eyes on the Tyrolean. "I don't have money for you!! I'm only given an allowance for breakfast...! And you--" to the Italian with barely hidden disdain, pulling her ring off of her glove and throwing it on the table with an expensive clatter. "I don't know what you're after but I'm engaged--" Hopefully. The count had never seen her face, or met her in person. There was a good chance when he did he would call it all off of she didn't get fixed.

To the man who looked just as crazy as she felt, her large eyes narrowed. "Fine--fine!! Yes, I spilled that, I don't see how it should dictate who I am, because I couldn't hold a cup of coffee!!"

The room went silent again. She looked down at her scarf and used it to steady her hands again. "I... I don't know why you're all here but I have to leave soon..."

"Ahh, really you moved over here, so you are the one standing close to us--"

He considered this for a moment. Seeming to accept it, he dropped the suspicious look and took a seat as offered (if there was coffee on it, it hardly mattered--his clothes were long past the point where one could tell what color they were meant to be), "That's a sound argument. Don't worry, though, I'm not a spy, so you don't have to worry about me standing close by."

Helping to pick up some of the coins off of the ground, he handed them over to the sleepy-eyed man with a gap-toothed grin, "Frightfully fascinating stuff, isn't it? What does and doesn't exist--take morality, for example. When you really think about it, nothing is really inherently right or wrong, is it? I mean, even if you believe a higher power dictates all that, then it's just another Euthyphro's Dilemma, isn't it--" But before he could continue, he was cut off by the outburst from the trembley woman. (Hadn't he already clarified that he wasn't a spy? What was the problem, then?)

Frowning as she mentioned getting an allowance and basically threw the indication of her wealth on the table, his previous suspicions were affirmed for him: definitely nobility...or at least nouveau riche. Both were pretty bad.

"Look here, Edle von Mousy," (if the Tyrolean lacked the gift of tact, then Lev did a thousand times more so--but only when it came to the upper class), "it could dictate a lot of things. Maybe it couldn't. I wouldn't know unless I asked, would I? Sometimes you have to ask things, you know--like how this sentence could be true and false at the same time." He tapped a fingerless-gloved-hand on the piece of paper, which was slowly absorbing the flecks of coffee on the table.

Maybe it wouldn't make sense, to anyone else's mind, but it did to his. Everything and anything could be called into question: God, morality, their very existence...he just took it a step further and questioned things that were mostly insignificant. If it bothered people, then it was only because they didn't understand the philosophical mind. ...Or whatever his mind was.

But then, maybe he was completely missing the point of why she was upset. In fact, that was highly likely.

These people were not very friendly. Antonio was certainly being friendly- well, maybe taking someone's seat did not qualify as being friendly. But, he did not deserve the reaction that he received from the older Italian. Only then glancing up at the man, he felt completely justified in taking his seat. This man, unlike all others at the table seemed composed and normal, handsome and probably wealthy.

In other words, uninteresting.

"You can buy me coffee..." He began, with a slight smile to that Italian, once he had gathered up (with the Russian's help) all the lost coins that could be seen. He mouthed a quick 'Thank you' to the Russian. But his gratitude was so quickly interrupted, when the wonder of the non-existent sentence came to light. He didn't understand how that led to the existence of morality. How could some sentence that didn't even exist decide these things? It was all rather silly. But he was willing to listen. Listen, until the outburst at least.

It took Antonio completely be suprise, as a few coins managed to slip out of his hands again.

"Ah- Comtesse.... No, no, I don't want your money!" His eyes switched to the ring for a brief moment. His words did not come out for a second. It looked expensive. He couldn't even imagine how much it could be worth. How much she could be worth-If she ever chose to be a client? He wanted her as a model, not as a client, but maybe she could be both. The ring found it's way into his fingers. He stared in awe, as he felt the unusually tangible wealth. But he only touched it, only for a brief second, before he looked up at his prospective client. And his hands drew back, only to move to her again. This time, he dropped the money that he still had in front of her.

"For your coffee... I think we need to talk. And, with our friend right here...." He pointed the Lev. "We can talk all about if your coffee did or didn't exist! Does that have to do with her morality, as well? I bet it does..." He wondered off to the Russian.

"And we'll get coffee for all of us, just to discuss if it exists or not. He'll pay for most of it..." He grinned, with a finger to the Venetian. "You must drink it with us, just to determine if we exist...."

"Right...?"

He had no idea what he was talking about, but hopefully, it was something to convince these philosophical minds to stay.

"I'm not a spy."

This alone convinced the Venetian that this man was not alright in the head, but for the most part he didn't seem dangerous. Just annoyingly forward. Not that he himself wouldn't be considered forward, but he had never gone around showing people signs that they probably couldn't exist with a sentence that didn't make any sense. How strange indeed.

Bein simply sneered at the other, having very little intention of buying him coffee. He had money, he could buy his own, he certainly didn't like this boy and could not wait to be rid of him. But he couldn't help but be amused by the Russian's chosen topic. Morality? Did he know what his chosen past times were and how he'd spent last night helping an elderly and wealthy man on his way? No, that would be impossible. He'd never seen this man before.

Well at least if he had seen, he was too crazy for anyone to take what he said seriously, but it amused him none the less. He watched him, taking the time while he was speaking to examine him and the younger man at the table, only to be caught off gaurd by the woman's sudden outburst. He took a moment to examine the other men at the table's reaction's before letting out a small yet warm laugh, leaning on the table while there was no food on it.

"My dear, I am sorry if I came across as being a bit forward, but I simply wanted some company while I drank my first coffee of the day. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything like that," He sighed, sounding as sincere as he could, "Again, I am sorry."

Bepin let his glance fall on the other Italian as he spoke, looking less than amused at being volenteered to buy coffee. After all, he had only planned to spend at most enough for his own coffee, not for three people. How annoying, He let out a sigh before smiling and leaning back in his cheer with open arms. He grinned at the half Italian opposite him.

"It's it rather rude to assume someone else will pay for everything. You, barakèło, can buy your own. But you should take back your money and I am more than happy to buy coffee and perhaps a meal for the Comtesse and . . ." He stopping, looking over expectantly at the Russian for some kind of introduction. He was glad he'd brought money with him on the off chance, though at this rate he'd have to return straight home to get more, after what he'd learned about his former country he had little trust for banks anymore.

She put her ring back on (with difficulty) while trying to figure out a way to best ignore the Russian talking in her ears. He was loud, smelled exceptionally bad and... What did he call her?

But she didn't get the chance to retort, if she had one to begin with. She and the Tyrolean needed to talk? She didn't even know his name. "What do you mean...?" She still couldn't be sure that she hadn't finally slipped into hallucinations. His money was tangible enough... But she wouldn't take it. "I don't want another..."

...And now she was being offered coffee and a meal. "Th-thanks but..." But they kept talking. What time was it now? Could she somehow leave early? The Tyrolean was making her nervous, the Italian was making her confused, and frankly the russian smelled too bad to stand. She stood, nodding at them and smiling as best she could. "Thank you for the... Offers... But I think... I need to go now. ...To school."

He began picking up the coins again, distributing them back to their owner--it didn't bother him. This man was obviously not rich, so he didn't deserve to lose his money just because some hyped-up countess had startled him. (Nevermind that Lev had been the one to originally caused the coins to scatter--) Already, he liked this person; he seemed very open to discussing metaphysics.

"Right! The coffee probably does exist, but that depends on how you like to view the universe... I'm kind of partial towards physicalism myself, but sometimes I wonder if maybe Berkeley was right: maybe reality consists of only our minds and ideas? Esse est percipi, and all that--" Waving a hand reassuringly, he insisted, "Don't worry, though; as long as we're thinking, we exist."

Taking a breath, he paused and added, "That said, I'll have to decline; I'm not actually very fond of coffee, to be honest. Wouldn't want to waste your money. Sometimes, though, I try to convince myself that I do like things that I don't--have you ever tried that? It usually doesn't work."

Either way, he made no move to leave; he was fond of chatting.

The countess, on the other hand, did not seem to be. She looked pretty anxious to be rid of them--typical aristocrat. Probably thought she was too good to be sitting with the likes of the lower-class. ...Or maybe just him. Possibly the sleepy-eyed man, too? He was nice, but clearly not bourgeoisie or anything higher. The non-sleepy-eyed one, though...he couldn't tell, but he seemed to be well-off enough. Enough to offer strangers coffee and meals, at least.

Completely unaware of the man's thoughts and that his talk of morality had amused him (if only he knew just how much Lev talked about that exact subject, then he wouldn't have found it so coincidental), he introduced himself, "Lev Morozov. Normally, I'd take that offer--it's generous--but I'm fasting right now. You know, test of willpower." He said it as though people did it all the time.

Well, the crazy foreigner- was he Russian? Antonio knew a few Russians, and they sounded like him. The crazed Russian was the only one with any degree of kindness, it seemed. As he continued to pick up those coins that Antonio continued to drop, he could only express his gratitude again.

And again, he didn't have much time for a thank you, because right off the bat, he began to speak about existence, again.

"We don't have any coffee now... So maybe it doesn't exist? And if our friend, the Comtesse is gone, how can we know she exists? If we don't see her. If she wants to leave, then maybe she doesn't exist!" He grinned, so proud of himself for being able to hold up in this type of conversation. He didn't care really. Well, he did care if he existed, but he knew he existed. So it didn't concern him. But he loved to hear this man speak. His words were so unique, they were what created his appearance. Antonio had realized, that as you learn to know a person, their physical appearance can warp for you. As he looked at a piece of art, as he looked again and again, it was never the same person. Little details could change an entire person's being.

He loved personality. He loved people, and he loved hearing them speak. And that was one of the reasons why he did not want the Comtesse to leave.

"Don't leave, Comtesse... This is much more enriching than your school. Please... We don't even need to drink, if you're worried you'll get too fat or anything. Anyways, I don't think you should go to school like that, your dress is ruined. All the women at the school... I've met some of them before, they're all very beautiful. I don't think you'd be able to go. It would be very uncomfortable looking like you do." Not intending to insult her. No, it was supposed to be a complement- well, it came out in his mind like a compliment. She was too fascinating to deal with those people. She had to deal with a crowd that also looked like her. And that was this mismatched crowd.

"So please sit." He gathered up the money back for his pocket, since it seemed like that Venetian was going to pay for them now. "I'm sure you can convince yourself to enjoy our company- I think it's possible for you to convince yourself of things... Lev can't, but I think we both can."

"The Italian..." Was he Italian? He had a stranger accent. But it was vaguely Italian. "will get you whatever you want if you're not worried of being fat."

"I'll just have a plain coffee by the way...." He added to the Venetian, as if he didn't even hear him.

She was leaving? Bepin couldn't allow this, afterall, she had been his sole reason for sitting at this table and if she left he would be stuck with that moron and the crazy Russian. Something he really did not want. He looked up at her, looking fairly upset in half an attempt to make her feel guilty.

"Ahh, Comteese, please, I insist," he paused before smiling once again and monitoring his tone carefully to make sure he would not come off as threatening, "Surely a young lady such as yourself would not want to risk offending us. Perhaps you could lie and say you're under the weather-- I'm sure one day off will not stain your record, let alone one morning, no?"

The Venetian turned his attention back to the Russian, leaning back in his chair he really was interesting. And perhaps he would be fun to meddle with and deciding to throw a point at him, a light smirk finding it's way onto his face, "But how can you prove that we are also thinking? Perhaps what we're saying is just what you think we're saying and it's like you're talking to yourself? It must be a very lonely feeling," he laughed before smiling at him again. "No coffee? Then perhaps you would like something else to drink?" He's also thought fasting had been a solely religious thing, but for now, he would not question it. Maybe the next time he saw him-- if he saw him again, at least.

Bepin once again turned his attentention to the chair stealer, realising that he had yet to discover his name but not sure if he cared enough to ask. . . He didn't. It was nearly painful to listen to him trying to hold up in the conversation. Of course the coffee didn't exist. It hadn't been made yet. No. What wat was painful was trying to hold in this groan, and then just becoming amused at his attempts to get the woman to stay.

"My, my, drugo, don't we have a way with words?" He sneered before correcting him, "I prefer to be called a 'Venetian' rather than an Italian. I find the term to be. . . Too general. I do not wish to be mixed up with one of those backwards southerners." Usually he wouldn't go out of his way to correct someone, but this man was just so grating. How was it even possible? And he thought he was going to buy him coffee??

The only way he'd do so if it would mean he left; something that seemed less than likely.

"I may not be tight like a Genovesi, but I am not going to buy you a coffee. You have your own money and you are not a lady." He said plainly, smiling once again as he finished, "Capisso?"

What. What was the Tyrolean saying? "Ex...Excuse me...?!" These were hallucinations. She was sure of it now. It was her subconscious telling her she didn't belong in polite society. That must have been it. And she wasn't going to miss a Talking Cure appointment for it.

They were confusing, all three of them. The Russian who was making her question reality (she wasn't that insane, was she?), the Tyrolean who was calling her ugly and yet couldn't take his eyes away from her previously, and the Italian (she assumed)... Why was he even interested??

But he'd said 'stain'. She sucked in a breath and trembled. "You know, I'd never even done anything to the likes of you all!!" wanting to berate them more but not having anything to say, she threw the newspaper on the table and stomped out. There would be alot to talk about at her appointment.

Watching the strange, strange woman leave, he picked up the newspaper she'd dropped on the table and shook the stray drops of coffee off before flipping it open to flick through the pages. His eyes were darting over it far too quickly to actually be reading it, though--and that was because he wasn't. He was checking for anything that mentioned himself. Wanted pictures, articles about the secret police, et cetera... It was never a bad idea to be overly-cautious.

Making quick work of it (if there was one thing he was, it was a fast reader--especially when not actually reading, but skimming), he slapped the newspaper back down onto the tabletop and exclaimed to the Tyrolean, "You're absolutely right! Following idealism, we can't know if she exists anymore or not. Are you also a philosophy student? Well..." He snorted and glanced back at the door, as if to see if she was really gone or not, "It's too bad nobility doesn't really stop existing as soon as they leave your sight. Society would be a better place." For that brief moment, his expression was deadly serious, and he didn't seem half as excited.

It tided over, though, as he turned his leaned back in his chair slightly and contemplated one of the light fixtures in the opposite corner of the restaurant. "I can't know if either of you exist, honestly. But I know for sure that I do. Really, though, I don't agree much with that train of thought--it'd be pretty selfish, to have the mentality that you exist and no one else does." If he'd purposely meant to drop so meaningful a line, he didn't show it.

"In any case," he leapt up from his chair, as though it were electrified, "I think I fancy a stroll. I don't like to loiter in one place for too long--never know who might be watching." He glanced around shiftily, "Places like these...anyone could be listening."

Pushing in his seat, holey-gloved fingers hovering over the back of it, he added cheerfully, "Care to join me? You both seemed pretty intent on keeping Comtesse von Nevroz around--maybe we can catch up to her?" It wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time than harass rich people.

"Venetian...?" He looked at the man, noticing the somewhat sinister sound and harsh tone to his voice. He assumed it didn't mean much, though. Just that he was not wanted. But the man was still talking to him-- so that was worth something. "My mother is Italian, you know? Her family is from the North too. I think I have relatives who live in Venice. Did you go through Tyrol to get here?" He grinned, though he made no intention of going home, he did still feel homesick at times. He would have loved to speak more on the topic-, but any chance of conversation was cut off when his hopeful model/client got up.

Had they offended her?

People had been offended by Antonio before. He had offended those girls outside of the school before. He even got in trouble for it. It was strange how these elite women-folk were.

"Comtesse!" he called out, but she was gone.

Gone, and his other hopeful model didn't seem to mind. Should he go to get her? But that would mean he would lose the Russian... He glanced at Lev, torn between the two choices. Lev was just reading his newspaper. Reading it very quickly- the whole thing even, much quicker than Antonio would have been able to even read one page. It was amazing to observe, so when there was nothing less to observe, and the paper was smacked down, it again caught Antonio a bit off guard.

This man was a very dramatic person. But he knew that already, he looked dramatic.

"No, no...." He laughed, dispersing his thoughts quickly. "I don't go to school...I can't..." He wished he did, but his education level was extremely low. Getting into school- or a school as prestigious as The Academy of Fine Arts was impossible for him. "I'm a painter, and painters and philosophers get along, for some reason. We make things exist... And you people make things stop existing..."

It didn't make much sense. But, a lot of philosophers didn't make much sense. Like the suggestion that Antonio might not exist... But that idea was brushed aside. So this philosopher could be more sensible than most. He looked it. Well- he looked crazier than most philosophers maybe. But also, he looked more authentic- which maybe made him more sensible?

"Of course!" The Tyrolean boy pushed out of the stolen chair.

"She's very enjoyable to look at, isn't she? She looks perfect, I'd say." Already, he had taken a step before his group. Obviously, he expected them to come along. (The Venetian didn't need to come along, though. He was too uninteresting and hostile.)

"You are half Italian and you talk to women like that?! Mio dio, were you dropped on the head as a child?"

The Venetian stared at the man, looking at him like he'd just told him he had an extra head before calming down after a moment, "Hmm? I do not know every person in Veneto, you know. Such a feat would probably be impossible. But yes, I did go through Tirol to get here. I was only there for a day, though," Bepin pondered, thinking back to his journey here. Deciding for the moment not to mention that he'd wanted to go around but it had been impractical.

He had been about to continue until the second outburst from the Comtesse, it was starting to get rather tedious. He watched her leave without trying to pull her back this time, allowing the Tyrolean to try but not at all surprised that she didn't come back, leaning back in his chair and yawning. What a wasted morning.

"You really do need to learn how to talk to women, that was most underwhelming. You actually insulted her-- If I did not think it would be so hopeless I would offer to teach you," He suggested as he leant forward in his seat, his tone lighter than before before turning his attention to the Russian. "Oh? You seem to dislike the nobility, not that I blame you. But they can be useful."

Bepin took a moment to take in his response to the point he'd made, smiling at him, "You are quite a strange man. Intersting, but strange. You are a lot brighter than first impressions would suggest." There was once again a look of surprise on his face as the younger man revealed that he was a painter, the Venetian laughing a bit.

"Perhaps there is still a shred of hope for you yet," he teased before continuing more seriously, "but you don't need school-- Well, you might. I only went to school for a few years, the rest my father taught me or I learned myself. The important things. I don't see why you need to go to school to do art, anyway. You should look for a painter to take you on as an apprentice. That's what my cousin did. She's very good for her age," He nodded as he spoke, a proud grin appearing on his face as he spoke of his cousin. He paused for a second, looking over at the Russian again, "But of course, for something like philosophy, you would probably need schooling. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, just that it's not for everyone, you know?"

Bepin just raised an eyebrow as the two sprang up, with the intention of following the Comtesse, he himself having lost all interest in her. "There is a word for that, you know. It's called 'harrassment'. I don't think following her will do much good. But. . ." He paused for a second, staring down at the table infront of him as he weighed up his options. "I would be more than happy to join you two for a brief walk. Though I will be parting ways with you once I feel I'm getting to far from my destination." He smiled again, getting up more casually than the other two, letting them lead the way and following them out.

As Therese attacked the sidewalk with her heels, getting rid of that nervous ball of energy that somehow always resurrected itself, she felt one of her heels crack and almost tripped. Great. One unusable dress and a busted pair of shoes.

Today was not the day she thought it would be. She didn't really feel like talking, but maybe she would go just to get away from the crowds that to her seemed to be invading her space when those on the street could care less who she was. He parents did, however. They would be disappointed beyond belief. They would never listen to her stories, let alone believe them. She'd realized it was out of care for her, out of worry. Her parents didn't want to think that their daughter's future was so compromised. She had two options if this talking cure didn't bring a solution. Convent or institution. Neither was a better option than the other.

She mumbled the names of the side streets as she passed them until she found the one she needed. Pausing for a moment to let carriages pass by, she half hopped with her one good shoe (oh, NOW people's eyes were on her. It figured.) across the street quickly, and stopped to make sure she looked alright before entering the building.

Well... 'alright' would never happen. Close enough.

He followed the Tyrolean out, hands in his pockets, slouched just slightly as he walked, knees hardly bending with each stride. (Clearly, this was the posture to assume when one wanted to avoid drawing attention to oneself.) Occasionally, his hands would move around in his jacket pocket, as though he'd meant to gesture with them but was hesitant to expose them to the outside air. ...It was plausible that it came as a learned habit from not having proper gloves in the wintertime.

"I think she looks like a cat that just got electrocuted," he said frankly to the both of them, "But maybe I'm biased, because I do rather dislike nobility." The way he put it was considerably less harsh than how he actually felt. He'd decided not to voice any more opinions on the matter...for now. Now, he was having too good a time to become worked up over the plight of the proletariat.

Completely unperturbed by the suggestion that he was anything but normal, he noted sagaciously, "Well, I imagine you have to be a bit strange to be a philosopher. Normal people don't usually ask things like 'what is there' and 'what is it like' or 'how do we know what we know', do they? But..." He thought for a moment, giving a sidelong glance at a passing horse-and-buggy, "Yes, it's true that it's a field that requires formal schooling, these days." He didn't sound overly enthusiastic about the fact. It would be a lie to say that he wasn't disappointed in having his education cut short--even if it had been for the greater good. As much as he could contribute to the greater good, anyways. Talkative though he was, there were aspects of his past he didn't like to think about, let alone bring into conversation.

It seemed that the subject could be quickly cut short, however. Ignoring the allegations of harassment (it was a bit late for him to start walking the straight and narrow path, when it came to that), he pointed at a hopping figure crossing the road. ...Tried to point, anyways, with his hand still in his jacket pocket. He accidentally elbowed an innocent passerby in the process. The complaints fell on deaf ears.

"Look, isn't that her? She certainly walks oddly, doesn't she?"

So said the person who looking like he was imitating a toy soldier with Parkinson's disease.

"My mamma was very good at art," he began with a smile to the Venetian, taking a few steps forward. "As are a lot of her relatives. Sometimes they would visit, and teach me things about art. Some even went to Paris, you know? That is where the greatest artists go. I'm going there sometime... Then I can work under the greats.."

"Not that those here are not also greats, I don't have an apprenticeship with any of them, but it is almost like that... With my friends, that is-," Not those at the Academy. He frowned for a brief second, before lighting up quickly.

"Tyrol is a very good place for painting. It is so beautiful, of course?" And he continued on, as if he didn't even ask a question. His home was beautiful, there was no question about it. "But you can not get very far there." His footsteps were already much quicker and more eager than others, but he sped up even faster. His youthful eagerness had too much power over him, at times, it seemed.

"Women there were also very different. In Vienna, I think all the women try to be the same... except for people like the Comtesse- well, I don't know if she tries to be like she is, but she is very beautiful- well, not beautiful like women are... but beautiful like art can be... A much more deeper beauty, I think." He paused, searching for some way to explain it. They should understand... Well, philosophers knew about beauty, Lev might. And the Venetian seemed to have an interest in the arts. He could as well. "I have never seen an electrocuted cat, but they could be beautiful... depending on things..." trailing off, he shrugged it off.

"I think I might be in love with her actually, she's so interesting..." And he shrugged that off again. He was very unlike a philosopher in the way he used that word. He didn't dwell much on it, and threw it around easily. He fell in love with a lot of things. "I would like to look at her often..." Lev was also very nice to look at in that same sense. But, men did not take kindly to those types of compliments, he knew from experience, so he didn't feel the need to say it. Even if he was a philosopher, and even if he did understand beauty better than most- it was best not to risk it.

And there she was. He got a glance at her again, and yes, yes she did walk oddly. So very oddly! Almost like she was missing part of her leg. Was she? What a story that could make? Whatever made her like that? She was a truly wonderful human.

His pace quickened- almost to a run after her. He did not quite enter the building, though. He was content with watching- watching until his new friends came at least, and followed after her. If he went after her alone... Well, she did run away from him once, didn't she?

((RAMBLING THEN CREEPING, WHAT IS THIS--))

"I wouldn't know, I've never seen an electrocuted cat," he sighed, looking back to the artist with a smile. "Yes, I suppose Tyrol You should go to Venice, some day. I've seen a lot of painters there from all around. But I suppose Paris is a good place to start, I've only been there once, myself," He said, pausing with a light smirk on his face. Let's just say he hadn't been there to look at paintings.

The Venetian stopped in his tracks at the way the other spoke about women, looking at him like he was crazy and not catching the last part. Not that he'd have totally understood what he was talking about. He was a conman, not a painter. He didn't need to see inner beauty, he just needed to pretend he could until he got what he wanted. He took a few long strides, quite a feat considerng he was the shortest of the newly formed trio and the youngest was walking quite quickly. When he'd caught up to him he slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer.

"No, no, my friend!" He said, looking genuinely concerned for him, and 'my friend' was certainly a step up from barukèło, "You really do know nothing about women-- They are all different. You should never assume that they are all the same, unless you want a slap and to be alone for the rest of your life. Of course, there are some tricks that will work with all women. Oh-- Think of them being like your paints, you have many different shades of the same colour, yes? Women are like that," He'd never found it so hard to explain something to someone, but it needed to be done in this case. He sighed, removing his arm from the younger man's shoulder and returning to his more casual pace, letting the other get ahead again.

"You sound like you don't want to talk about your time in education," He started, looking over at the Russian and about to question him about it before he pointed out their unwilling target (Well, Bepin had long since stopped considering her as such).

"I believe the heel in her boot is broken," He stated at the two pointing out how strangely she was walking, his gaze dropping down to the Russian's legs and how he had been walking. "Now then, gentlemen, you two can--" He was cut off by the young man running off after her, Bepin himself pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering to himself in Venetian under his breath. He glanced over at the other remaining member of the trio, "Well, if either of you need me, I will be over here. I have a reputation I need to uphold and I don't think running after a woman I have little interest in." He nodded to the man, moving closer to the wall and leaning against it, deciding they would not be hanging around long enough for his leaning against the wall to be considered a nuisance.

"Beauty is relative, of course--that's a big question: what is art? What is beautiful? But I think anyone can agree that we all have different tastes," he shrugged.

Personally, he still didn't see the way the Tyrolean saw her; how it was her imperfections that made her so enticing to the artist's eye. But he did adhere to the 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder' school of thinking, when it came to such matters. After all, did people find things beautiful because there was some inherent quality in them that made them beautiful, or were things beautiful because people thought they were? Everything was relative, in his opinion. Some things were universally pleasing to the eye, yes, but there would always be at least one person out there who found the most majestic flower ugly--and it was for that one person, that nothing could ever be called 'inherently' beautiful.

But that was also what made beauty in itself, beautiful. There were so many different types, so many ways of seeing it. If it were all black and white, if everyone thought the same way, the world would be a different place. There would be no art, no poetry. There would be no reason to celebrate beauty, for it would be a boring thing.

So caught up he was in this train of thought, that he very nearly made the grave mistake of following the artist straight into the building. But the sign outside caught his eye, and he froze literally in midstep. He knew this place.

Spinning a perfect one-hundred-and-eighty degrees on his heel, he half-marched, half-ran over to where the Venetian was standing by. Standing slightly behind the man, as if to hide himself (despite being an inch or so taller), he said in a hushed and strained voice, "I knew it! I knew that woman was an imperialist spy! That place is full of them--and he went right in there! Oh my god, oh my god--!"

His fears were entirely logical--he'd been taken to this place himself, on one of the occasions when he'd been arrested for 'disturbing the peace'. They'd asked him all kinds of questions, as if they were trying to peel apart his brain and reveal his secrets. He wouldn't tell them anything. He knew...he knew they were spies sent by the tsar, trying to take him back to Russia. Out to Siberia, where he'd be forced to do hard labor with the other revolutionaries, and probably die in the harsh conditions, being neither strong nor hardy, physically. And he told them as much. They thought he was crazy. They told him as much. And so he ran out, and avoided the building like the plague afterwards, because he knew what it really was, and what they would try to do to him, if they caught him again.

And so they'd sent their mousy spy to trail him, and try to lure him in by means of his new artist acquaintance, who had now been ensnared by the trap, probably to be tortured for information. Lev wouldn't have been surprised; this was the tsar's secret police, after all. He had no doubt that he himself had just avoided a most terrible fate--but at the cost of an innocent.

Gripping the Venetian by the shoulder, he shook the other man slightly, wide-eyed stare fixed with blatant fear on the building, "What are they going to do to him?? Should we go in, to save him?" He didn't know if he could risk it. But he also didn't know if he could live with the guilt on his conscience, if he didn't. "Maybe...maybe we should wait, for a moment. Maybe he'll get out, by himself... But if not..."